And fingers were crossed for just clouds as seven young women had their hair styled and their makeup carefully applied.

Through it all giggles and laughter wafted down from the third floor as I assembled chicken salad, and sliced a fresh baguette in my kitchen.

Final touches were happening outside and in.

A few more fairy lights here…

A canvas flag there…

A Canvas Flag There

Flowers brought in and set on my kitchen island, atop the wood countertop that was once our dining table in Australia.

Her bouquet stood out, all pale. Perfectly so.

Perfectly Pale

And, finally, it was my turn to get ready.

As I stepped from the shower to the sink by the window, I gazed out… and noticed.

The hydrangea bushes below. They were glowing.

I looked up.

The solid grey sky seemed to be breaking into a thousand pieces. Bright blue in between small cotton balls of fluff.

By the time it was time for my daughter, my first-born, to walk down the aisle to marry the love of her life, I looked up again.

And couldn’t find a cloud anywhere.

The pine trees seemed to stand a little taller.

And the bit of Atlantic Ocean we live beside leaned in.

And then…

Well.

Right now I’m smack dab in the pondering phase. Mac and Jack are still here for a few days and we are all telling stories and laughing and reliving the goings on of the befores and durings and afters.

Just after I took the photo of the flowers on the day of the wedding, I put my camera away, and didn’t pick it up until the next morning. I wanted to be absolutely present for each moment, my memory blowing away the best cameras’ settings (including their macro, panorama and video modes).

There is so much to process and ponder, and I know I’ll have many posts (and many photos) to share, relative to this wedding’s love and magic, planning hilarity, and the circus of family and friends gathering to celebrate two humans who have decided to pledge their lives and love to each other.

fun with searching!

Bathtub Mary

In Somerville, Massachusetts, where I spent the first five or six years of my life (it seems to be hotly debatable in my family), people often put statues of the Virgin Mary in their front yards. And she is ‘protected’ in a lovely arch of white.. which is often … and I am not kidding… a partially buried cast iron bathtub.